


Shamelessly

by Lxck



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Foster Kid AU, Found Family, High School, Losers are 16-18 age range, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lxck/pseuds/Lxck
Summary: Following tragic life events, six children find themselves living on Hanlon Farm under the care of the loving and supportive Hanlons. Stan, Richie, and Ben are thrown together after a fatal crash left their parents dead or in unwakeable comas. After losing their youngest son to the same crash, the Denbroughs relinquish their rights to their previously adopted son, Bill. Beverly and Eddie have become temporary wards of the state following a CPS investigation on their biological parents. This is their coming of age story and working through trauma.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Anxiously

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at he-calls-me-eds.tumblr.com

Eddie was scared all the time. Or, not really scared, he guessed, his therapist had called it anxiety, and he got anxious all the time. Either way, he was pretty sure it still made him a fucking coward. He was anxious about his mother, he was scared of the hospital, he was terrified that his two best friends had died in the horrible car accident on the interstate. When the news covered it, he didn't originally have any reason to think Bill and Richie were in it, but something just came over him- _Anxiety, Edward_ , His therapist called him Edward, he still doesn't fully know why, _it's_ _Anxiety-_ and he rang both the Tozier house and the Denbroughs. No one answered.

Which didn't mean they were in the crash, they could just be stuck in the traffic caused by it, or nowhere near it. Regardless, he didn't sleep well that night. And when he came to school the next day to find both Bill and Richie out, he nearly threw up all over homeroom. He would have gone looking for them if the nurse hadn’t made a mistake and called his mother instead of Mr. Hanlon. Sitting in the nurse's office with his head in his hands, trying to breathe and not think the worst about his two best friends not coming to school coinciding with the fifteen car pile-up from the day before, the last thing Eddie needed to hear was, “ _ Eddie bear _ !”

His head shot up, that hard piercing chill shooting through his chest as he heard his mother's voice, and he looked towards the door to see her clamoring through the front office. Panic seized his chest and he looked for any other way out of the office. Why was she here? She wasn't supposed to be here, the case worker promised he wouldn't see her until the hearing! Before Eddie could weigh his options about going out the window, the door flung open with a shattering clatter and from the entrance emerged Sonia Kaspbrak. Red in her puffy face, she lurched towards him as the sixteen year old shirked back with a shriek, hands clutching the edge of the faux wooden chair he perched upon. "M-Mommy."

"Let's go, Eddie," She insisted, hand out to grab his arm but Eddie recoiled with a barely covered whimper. The cowardice only seemed to enrage Sonia more. "Edward. I said let's  _ go _ . Before those awful people take you away again."

Those awful people were social workers at the Office of Child and Family Services, and they had taken Eddie away from his mother after an anonymous tip alerting them to faked illness and placebo medication. They had Eddie tested for all the things Sonia claimed he was ailed with, only to find he had none of it. His asthma, although not really asthma but rather hyperventilating, was actually a symptom of high anxiety and now Eddie was seeing a therapist for that. All in all, he had been doing much better, he  _ felt _ much better, but seeing his mother again after several weeks of reprieve quickly diminished every ounce of bravery he might have felt. "I'm not- I'm not supposed to talk to you right now."

He looked around, considering what would happen if he called for help. Would he get in trouble for making a scene? This was his mother, after all, he'd be seen as the crazy one if he just started shouting, wouldn't he? His chest hurt, his breath coming in shallow pants as he scrambled to figure out what he was supposed to do. Sonia was reaching for him, beartrap hands open to grab and trap him back in his sick and miserable life. God, he wished Richie was there.  _ God _ , he really, really hoped Richie wasn't dead. Her lips were pressed angrily, breath hot and heavy as she bustled to clasp Eddie’s arm and force him to stand. Where his friends had grown over the last two years, Eddie was still the smallest of his group, and his mother hauled him to his shaking feet like he was still a four year old boy wandering off in a shoe shop. 

“Mom,  _ Mommy,  _ I have school, I-” He tried, but his voice felt so small even to himself. Even after everything, he was powerless. It took every ounce in him to summon the courage to consider telling his mother to let him go, and took more than he had to actually tell her. Prepared to plead with her and hope she saw reason, he was saved by the administration office door opening with a soft click. Sonia stilled, dropping her hand so it was hidden at her side, grip deathly tight around Eddie’s forearm. A silent threat to behave or things would be much worse for him.

Mr. Snow stepped out of the office, laughing lightly as he said his goodbyes to the administrator inside. He was a young teacher, only started a few years ago, but his heart was definitely in his work. With gentle eyes and an even gentler face, he was one of the student’s favorites because he listened to them. He had listened to Eddie when the boy had had a panic attack about being picked up from school by a CPS agent for the first time. Turning, he saw Sonia, and nodded politely before he started walking towards the door she had thrown open earlier. Her mistake was turning to try and keep Eddie hidden behind her, because when Eddie made a sharp sound of discomfort, the history teacher stopped, taking a closer look at the scene. “Mrs. Kaspbrak, what are you doing here?”

“My son attends school here, I have every right to be here.” She snapped, eyes staring dead ahead, chin raised almost defiantly. Her tone was biting, confrontational, a promise that there would be consequences for anyone who opposed her will.

Fortunately, Mr. Snow was a grown man and apparently didn’t fear mothers. He back stepped a bit, turning on his heels to draw closer. It was then he saw Eddie’s slim form being hidden behind his mother’s mass and the gentle face turned a grave. Eddie had never seen Mr. Snow look at another student with such anger. “Sonia, let him go before I phone the police and alert CPS that you’re interfering with the case.”

Eddie couldn’t breathe, making short little gasps as he looked between his teacher and his mother. He didn’t know what would happen next, but he was certain it would be terrible and awful and that it would be his fault because… The grip on his arm loosened and Sonia let him go, breaking Eddie out of his fast darkening thought process. A brief look towards Mr. Snow and his extended hand, Eddie going to him with much more ease than he had to his own mother’s hand.

Tension laid in the air, weighing and pressing on the teens chest as Sonia leaned towards Mr. Snow, lips parting to make a threat, but he didn’t let her, free hand up to stop her. “It’s for the court to decide, Mrs. Kaspbrak. Leave. Now.”

Eyes that haunted Eddie’s dreams for years to come cut into his skin and he drew back as his mother lumbered through the door she had come from. Breathing didn’t get any easier, and Mr. Snow escorted Eddie several feet back into the nurse’s office to ask for Eddie’s inhaler. He stayed until he was sure Eddie was okay, or at least until Eddie could fake like he was okay again before he left to contact the social worker about the incident. Not every adult was his mother, some genuinely did have his best interests at heart. Like Mr. Snow or the Hanlons. And Eddie was sure his social worker, Kristen, was trying her best, but the law rarely favored the minority.

Once he had calmed down, Kristen was waiting for him in the lobby of the administration office and Eddie nearly turned around to go right back to the nurse so he could sneak another dose off of his emergency inhaler. After testing showed his asthma wasn’t asthma, his inhaler prescription had been canceled and he only had the one at school to be used in extreme cases. It’s continued existence was probably yet another oversight by Maine’s OCFS, the same oversight that had his mother listed as his emergency contact in the nurse’s file. Kristen apologized profusely, repeatedly, annoyingly, like her job was on the line for such a fuck up and Eddie, if he had any backbone, might have laid into her about the incident. But she looked tired, holding three other case files that weren’t his and Eddie couldn’t find it in him to be mad. Instead, he offered to hold the files for her so she could take a moment to just compose herself, and while she fixed her hair, Eddie glanced down at the names, immediately recognizing  _ Tozier _ .

His eyes snapped up again, about to ask about Richie when Kristen took the files back and appeared a little less frazzled with her auburn hair pinned back in place. She continued apologizing, making promises that Eddie would only see his mother in the courtroom. Eddie wasn’t listening, thinking about Richie instead. This was good, right? It meant Richie was alive, at the very least. Parentless, but he wasn’t one of the victims. Richie was alive. Eddie was okay, he was going to be okay. He said whatever he had to do so Kristen wouldn’t schedule an extra bout of counseling for him that week, and then made his own empty promises of being alright. After learning Richie was okay, Eddie wanted to find Beverly, to talk to her at lunch about seeing his mom. She was the only who really understood any of that mess. When Kristen offered to drive him back to the farmhouse, Eddie shook his head and insisted he had a test he needed to take for American History. Thankfully her phone rang and she didn’t have the time to press any further, giving Eddie one more apology before she was rushing out the door to take the call.

The whole catastrophe happened in the course of a single class period, and Eddie wondered if he should have just gone home for the rest of the day. He felt exhausted, drained, flinching every time a door opened as he looked warily over his shoulder to make sure it wasn’t  _ her.  _ Was he  _ stupid _ ? He couldn’t stay here, he’d have another panic attack before he could even make it to lunch break and it wasn’t like Richie or Bill was there to talk him off the ledge. Eddie’s legs stopped working and he was caught in the middle of the hall, hands covering his face as he tried to keep it together.

She had been so close. She would have taken him and he’d wouldn’t know what happened to his friends, he’d never see his friends again. Eddie didn’t even argue, he didn’t fight, he was terrified. He would have gone with her if Mr. Snow hadn’t stepped in and stopped the whole incident from happening.  _ What the fuck was wrong with him _ ? After everything that woman did to him? After she poisoned him and told him he was sick and  _ delicate _ ? After she barred him from school activities because his  _ little body _ couldn’t handle it? Why did he almost go with her? Why didn’t he shout or scream or just pull away? His head swam with questions and self loathing as he realized just how close he had gotten to ruining his life all over again. All because he was too big a coward.

“Eddie?”

The boy screamed, jumping away from the voice into a passing clique of freshmen. Eddie hated how he was two years their senior but he was just as small. Opening his mouth to mutter an embarrassed sorry, Beverly gripped Eddie’s hand to pull him away from glaring eyes. She waved them off with a snide remark and didn’t wait around for a comeback, leading Eddie away from the crowded hallway and towards the school gymnasium. His fingers laced with Bev’s following her willingly through the horde of students who wouldn’t notice if Eddie was there or not. The thought was chilling, but not the worst one on his mind. His foster sister shimmied the lock on the supply room door with an ease Eddie should have questioned, but didn’t as she ushered him inside the dark and quiet room. It was a relief, like he had a space to breathe away from the masses. A moment later the light was flicked on, Bev stepping further into the room and looking over her shoulder to signal Eddie to follow.

“What happened, Eddie?” Her voice was soft, jarringly different than the tone she had taken with the freshmen who nearly ran Eddie over in the hallway only moments earlier; she was always gentle when she talked to Eddie, especially after they had been summoned to court the first time and realized their reasons for living on the Hanlon farm were more similar than not. While she hadn’t been a life long friend, like Bill or Richie, Eddie trusted her like she was one, and the moment he sat down on the cold stone floor, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. Beverly was at his side, crouched beside him and sliding an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. “Hey! Hey, hey, c’mon, Eddie. If you’re going to do that, you have to tell me why.”

“The nurse called my mom.” Eddie managed between panicked hiccups, leaning against her shoulder to hide there and bar the last hour from his mind. “And she came, and she grabbed my arm and I didn’t fuckin  _ say _ anything, I would have let her take me, Bev, I wasn’t even going to stop her, I was  _ too scared _ to stop her, she was this fucking close to-”

He would have gone on until he gave himself another panic attack, so Beverly shook his shoulder, repeating his name to the point of yelling it to break his concentration. “Eddie! Eddie! Hey,  _ stop _ , okay? You’re here. You’re right here, in school, no mom, no doctors, no meds. It’s just me. Stop freaking out, stop talking, stop thinking. Stop. She didn’t take you. You were scared because she hurt you for a long time and you just… fucking thought that’s how it was supposed to be. You know better now.”

"I don't, Bev! That's the fucking problem! She was there and it was like I forgot how to fucking think!"

"It's okay! It's okay to be scared, Eddie, she did shitty, terrible things to you, she's four times bigger than you-"

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Because you fucking suck at it." Eddie vigorously rubbed his face before digging his fingers into his eyes.

Beside him, Bev sighed, arms still tight around Eddie. "Look," She said lowly, waiting for Eddie to do so before continuing. "It shouldn't have happened at all, but it did. And you weren't  _ ready _ to face her, so you freaked out. That's  _ okay _ . It wasn't your fault, Eddie. The nurse fucked up, and Kristen fucked up, and everyone who should have been  _ protecting _ you fucked up. But now they know and they won't let her anywhere near you before the hearing. Because if they fuck up again, someone is probably going to jail, and it's probably going to be your mom, and at that point, you'll totally be free from her."

That… That didn't sound terrible. In fact, it made Eddie feel better, and he pulled back slightly so he could look up at Bev. She gave him a half smile, wild tangle of auburn hair falling in her face before she tucked it back to look at him. Eddie loved her. Not like he loved Richie, or even Bill, but like he thought he'd love a sibling. Quietly, he leaned in and wrapped her in a hug. "Thanks, Bev."

Beverly was tense under the hug; she always was when people touched her, but she didn't push Eddie away. She knew Eddie wouldn't hurt her. She also knew Eddie  _ couldn't _ hurt her. The interaction was brief, and Bev pat Eddie's back before she stood up again. "I think you should go home. Relax. I’ll skip Econ to walk you to the office and make sure they call Will this time, okay?"

Wiping his eyes, Eddie chanced a smile, getting to his feet as well and brushing the dust and dirt from his pants with a wrinkled nose. Shit, he had been so upset about his mom, he didn’t even think about what had touched this floor and when the last cleaning had been. When he stopped, Bev pulled his arm again, forcing him out of the rapidly devolving thought process Eddie often forced upon himself. She did as she promised, escorting Eddie back to the office and explaining what had happened, and threatening to call OCFS for putting undue stress and trauma on a student if they didn’t let Eddie go home early.

When Kristen had offered for Eddie to go home, it sounded like a punishment. Like Eddie had to say no to save face lest it resulted in more therapy sessions and more confirmation that Eddie was fucked up beyond belief. When Beverly made the suggestion, it felt like she genuinely cared about him and his well being. No ulterior motives, just wanting Eddie to go home and rest. Maybe, hopefully, help Mr. Hanlon fix up the harvester since Mike would still be in school. Because he had a good upbringing and didn’t have eight panic attacks a day.

Regardless of intent, Eddie still felt like it was a defeat when he went home early that day. Mr. Hanlon didn’t ask questions, but Eddie guessed Kristen had already called him and told him about the incident at school. The silence was welcome, and when they did converse, it was only about chores and what Eddie wanted for dinner. When Eddie replied he wasn’t sure, Will finally asked him to help with the farm equipment, telling him just because he wasn’t in school didn’t mean he couldn’t learn something. Eddie didn’t notice, but Will Hanlon was connected to every child he had under his roof. He took the time to learn them and understand what relaxed them enough to feel comfortable talking about things that simply weren’t. When Bev needed it, they would spend time ‘spring cleaning’ the closets and Bev would separate clothes that worked from those that didn’t. When Eddie needed it, Will realized handy work was effective. As long as Eddie was working with his hands on something mechanical, he began talking to concentrate.

Half way through getting the harvester up and running, Eddie finally let it slip that his mother had come to the school, and even though this wasn’t news to Mr. Hanlon, the wise old farmer just nodded and asked Eddie how it felt to see his mother without expecting it. Eddie told him the same thing he told Bev, minus the cursing because Mr. Hanlon didn’t like the cursing. His eyes stayed on the metal he was working, and he spoke with ease now that he was doing something constructive with his nervous energy. Learning he wasn’t useless, learning he could think about his mother, talk about her without freezing up all the time. He wasn’t powerless.

_ He wasn’t powerless _ . 

A beat passed before Eddie sat back, hands resting on his thighs as he looked over at his temporary guardian. Eddie really wished it was permanent. “Mr. Hanlon, you’re a really good dad, sir.”

“That’s very nice of you, Eddie, but I’m just here to make sure you have the best life you possibly can.” Will told him, the faint hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips before he instructed Eddie what he had to do next now that he removed a specific piece from the engine. They worked like that until Mrs. Hanlon came home with Mike and Bev and called Eddie inside to eat before he had to work at the Capitol theater. He didn’t want to stop working, and he looked to Will like he was going to undermine what his wife had said, but he just laughed and nodded for him to go on. “We can fix it another time, Eddie. I won’t touch it until you get back.”

Satisfied with that answer, Eddie smiled, and ran inside to greet Mrs. Hanlon and wash up for work, no longer thinking this was the worst day of his life.


	2. Cautiously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley and Richie share a Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr at he-calls-me-eds.tumblr.com

Stanley Uris missed when the worst day of his life entailed ruined homework, a walk home in the rain, and a harsh scolding from his father for not keeping a close eye on the time or the sky. Now the worst day of his life left bandages all over his arms and chest where he had been dragged from the turned over car by paramedics, the front end of his parents' sedan crumpled so far inward there  _ wasn't  _ a front seat. Everyone kept telling him it was a miracle he survived. Were Stan a rude boy, he would tell those people if it was a miracle, his parents would still be alive. If it was a miracle, no one would have died. But, instead, eight people were dead, and three high school students were suddenly wards of the state of Maine. A week following the incident, it would be four high school students.

Sitting in the hospital, Stan saw the other unfortunate boys who would soon share the same living space as him. Not that he knew it at the time. They were all rattled, one dark-haired lanky boy in the bed across from Stan a little more beat up than the rest, but nothing serious. It didn't take long for this one to start talking, making comments about the least the hospital could do was give them comfier beds, or better food, or hotter nurses. He told his roommates his name was Richie, though no one asked, and after five minutes of straight-talking, Stan had been the first to look at him and say "Richie, shut the  _ fuck _ up."

He didn't curse. Stan didn't like it, but watching his parents get wheeled across the shutdown interstate, faces obscured by white sheets while he waited for another ambulance to take him to the hospital loosened his reserve. If only for a few days.

In the bed beside Stan, the stubby round boy with the red face- Stan later learned his name was Ben- seemed to relax as Richie's voice stumbled to a halt. A glare was thrown Stan's way before the lanky teen just threw himself back onto his bed with an exaggerated huff. The bed beside Richie and across from stubby red face was the fourth boy, who didn't speak a word or look at any of them. He had his back to the others, brown hair hanging in his face as he watched the door. When a nurse came in to do rounds, he lifted his head and asked about his parents, if they were coming to see him. The nurse's expression changed, and she checked his chart before apologizing. "I'm sorry, Bill. They're with your brother right now…"

Later that night, they all learned Bill's brother didn't make it. And Bill's parents still never came to see him. Closer to morning, a nurse came in to see Ben, speaking softly but Stan was still awake to hear. They were all still awake that night, bound by the same tragedy.

"Your mother is stable," The nurse told Ben, tone grave despite the seemingly good news. "But she's unresponsive. We don't know when she'll wake up."

The next day Bill was discharged, and a child services team came out to talk to the remaining three. Ben had family they were trying to contact, Richie and Stan were less fortunate. Before the fatal crash could be fully cleared off the interstate, they were being interviewed and processed as wards of the state of Maine. At some point, Stanley vaguely remembered someone mentioning leaving town, but the other worker insisted they stay in town for the sake of what little sanity the children had left. Stan remembered resenting being called that. Ignoring the fact he simply  _ wasn't _ a child, he was old enough to drive and nearly old enough to vote, how could anyone stand there and still call him a child after he watched his parents' faces cave in against the side of an unyielding Ford pickup?

He wasn't a child. But he did need a home. Fortunately, his father had a will. A will he updated every year without fail. Only, because Stan was to turn eighteen later that year, Rabbi Uris didn't feel the need to include who would take responsibility for his son should anything happen to him. The house was left in Stanley's name, but he couldn't claim it until he was eighteen. The car was Stan's now, too, but it didn't help that it was completely totaled and unusable. Not that Stan would ever want to set foot in the sedan ever again. Or in any car, for that matter. But what he wanted and what needed to happen were two different things.

After days of deliberation and counseling, Stan was sitting in the back of a social worker's car, the trunk filled with suitcases packed of clothes, and a bag packed with personal treasures sitting neatly in Stanley's lap. He was told he was going to live with the Hanlons for a few weeks, they had a farm, they were fostering a few other children, all who went to the same school. At this point, Stanley didn't care where he lived, he wanted to stop being asked what he  _ wanted _ . It should be obvious, he wanted his parents back. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what Stan wanted, it mattered what he needed, and he needed a home. If that was with the Hanlons, then so be it.

Coming out of a train of thought, Stan frowned when the car parked outside of a house that was definitely not a farm. His frown deepened considerably when Richie from the hospital room came trudging out of the door with his own suitcases. "What is he doing here?"

"We thought it best to keep you together since you understand his situation." The worker said politely, stepping out of the car before Stan could return a biting remark about how  _ she _ clearly  _ didn't _ understand the situation. If the situation wasn't strained enough already, this added to the tension tenfold, and Richie wasn't even in the car yet. Sitting at the window, glaring coldly through the glass, Stanley could already hear the other boy chattering like this wasn't the last time he'd see his home. Steeling himself, Stan simply concluded the accident damaged Richie's brain past the point of help.

Richie rapped harshly on the car window, grin wide under magnified blue eyes. He waved, fixing the glasses on his nose before he opened the car door and waved for Stan to move over.

"Walk around," Stanley said through grit teeth, clutching his pack harder as he tried his level best to remain polite. Just because Richie didn't seem to realize the gravity of the situation didn't mean Stan had to. He would be polite, he would be respectful and reserved. Mournful. "I was sitting here."

"I have to sit on the right side of the car," Richie insisted, brows tipped up as he looked at Stan. "Come on, move, dude. That's my spot."

Stanley didn't budge. "What do you mean this is your spot? This isn't your car."

"Helen said I could have this spot."

"Her name's Kristen, and no, I was here first."

"Here first? So you called Dibs? Seems a little childish, Staniel." Richie grinned the whole time, which made it difficult to tell if he was joking or seriously demanding Stanley move. Before Stan could retort or correct the name, Richie clambered into the car, deliberately over him and making it as frustrating as possible. Long limbs tangled together as Richie tried to get through and Stan tried to push him off, the first laughing like an idiot, the second struggling to stop himself from cursing. After a lot of pushing and shoving, Richie collapsed in the seat beside Stan, glasses askew, breathing hard and smiling. "Wow. Was it good for you, too?"

"Shut up, Richie." Was all Stan could manage, trying to come to terms with the fact there was someone in this world he wanted to punch in the mouth

Richie didn't listen this time, only settled back in his seat, messenger bag sprawled across his lap. "Aw, Stan, you remembered my name."

" _ I said shut up _ ."

The silence lasted until Kristen returned to the car, then she made the mistake of talking to Richie and the seventeen-year-old with the messy black hair and cracked glasses happily made conversation. The Hanlon farm was just outside of town, and Stanley could only drown out Richie's obnoxiously loud voice for half of it. But whenever he turned his head to snap at Richie, the taller teen would lower his tone just slightly to avoid scolding. Only slightly.

After what felt like hours, they finally turned down a dirt drive that marked the limit of Hanlon's property. An open field, tall with wheat separated the house from the road, giving the family a sense of seclusion and privacy. A forest stretched out on the other side of the car, and Stan watched the trees pass, almost excited to see what avian creatures graced the area. Almost. It was a bittersweet adventure, moving to a new house with new people because the old people were dead and the old house stood frighteningly empty. Even Richie had fallen silent as they drove inward towards the farmhouse, most likely coming to the same conclusion as his fellow orphan. Stan glanced at him for a moment, empathizing with the shared experience, but quickly looked away when Richie turned because Stan didn't want to break the audible reprieve.

Mr. And Mrs. Hanlon stood in front of the house waiting to greet them, and Stan decided they looked nice enough. They looked nicer than his parents, but still somehow just as stern. Standing beside his father was Mike Hanlon, appearing to be just about the same age as Richie and Stan, and looking just as excited as his parents to have company. Stan had heard about the Hanlon farm before, mainly because that's where all the kids go when their parents hurt them. Like  _ really _ hurt them. For all his skepticism, Stanley did know that children who stayed at the Hanlon farm looked considerably happier than staying at their own home.

The only problem was Stan's parents never abused him. Never hurt him, never neglected him. To him, it wasn't a haven, but… A halfway house, he supposed. He was halfway to eighteen, and that was the only reason he  _ needed _ to be here at all. Maybe he was thankful, a little. Did he really want to stay in his house, never to hear his father's prayer again? Never to hear his mother preparing for Hanukkah? Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Stan decided this was for the best. He'd take the time to adjust to his solitude.

"Kristen! Always good to see you." Mrs. Hanlon greeted cheerily while Mike and his father circled around to open the trunk and begin gathering Stan and Richie's things. "I just made some lunch, if you'd like?"

"No, no, I can't stay, I still have casework to do for another cr-- child. " She trailed off as Stan and Richie emerged from the car, and Stan knew she was avoiding mentioning the crash like he would suddenly fly into an unbreakable depression. Stan might have felt pitied, but he didn't dwell on it long; The sooner Kristen left, maybe the better it would be. It was unlikely, but Stan wanted something hopeful to hold onto.

Mike Hanlon was already tall for his age, standing a good head taller than the two of them. But his smile was kind and softer than a puppy learning to play for the first time. He extended a hand to Stan, who shook it cordially, then to Richie, who shook it vigorously with that stupid grin back on his face. "Hey! I'm Mike."

"Mistah Hanlon," Richie tries, taking on an almost don Corleone-esque voice. "I come to you on da day my life goes ta shit, an' I ask ya: Where's Eddie?"

There was a fierce look thrown Richie's way from Mr. Hanlon, and Stan guessed it was the language. Meanwhile, Mike laughed like he couldn't see his father's trepidation. "He's upstairs. We set up the room so you could all share it. He's been excited waiting for you all day, but you didn't hear it from me."

In good faith, Richie zipped his lips and tossed the key with a wink before he scooped up his bags to trudge inside. It was then Mr. Hanlon gave Richie a mild warning about the language they use in the house and Richie ducked his head slightly. Stan watched him, half expecting him to snicker but he couldn't see Richie's expression through the mess of untamed black curls. Already Stan had the creeping suspicion he'd have to be the one to teach Richie when it was okay to joke and when certain situations required a held tongue. Only because they arrived together, and Stan didn't want the Hanlon's thinking they were both rude.

Fixing his bag on his back, Stanley approached Mr. Hanlon. "Thank you, sir. For letting us in your home."

Whatever sour mood Richie might have put him in, Mr. Hanlon smiled just as warmly as Mike at Stan's gratitude, and he nodded back with the same politeness. "It's your home now, too, Stanley. Do you like Stanley or Stan?"

"Either is fine." Stanley promised, smiling politely as he took his bags, at least what he could carry, to help move them inside. He glanced back at Kristen, still chatting with Mrs. Hanlon and decided a small wave in farewell would suffice.

The house itself was quaint. There was wood  _ everywhere _ , finished and shiny like Mr. Hanlon had just lacquered it. Honestly, it was a little hard to believe a farmer lived here because the house was clean and well put together. Stanley turned in a small circle as he looked at the living room, an area rug under the L shaped couch and coffee table. In the opposite corner of the room was a fireplace that would be nice in the winter months; a nice sized TV sat across from the couch, big enough that a family as large as the Hanlon’s wanted could see it. He was impressed, eyes cast down to find there were no mud tracks or farm equipment strewn about. Later, Stan would learn that Mrs. Hanlon was an interior designer and a damn good one.

“Dude!” Richie’s voice echoed through the house, the sound of excited feet running in from a half-open door down the hall. The bespectacled teen grinned when he saw Stan, nodding his head towards the back porch. “There’s a fucking  _ bathtub _ out here.”

Despite himself, despite the circumstances, despite the idiot who was talking to him, Stan smiled and followed Richie down the hall. Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe his life wasn’t completely ruined. 

On the back porch, there was a vintage bathtub pressed against a half wall and backed by a wooden cart laden with potted succulents. Stan looked at the tub, leaning forward slightly to see if anything was in it, but it was empty and primarily for show, it seemed. Admiring the rest of the porch, Stan turned and saw two armchairs bracketing a small table. Everything looked out over the vegetable and fruit crops, the barn and animal pens sitting to the right just barely in the line of sight from the cushioned chairs. This would be a perfect spot to birdwatch in the early morning or twilight evening.

His imagining of such perfect moments was cut short as he heard a clatter and Richie’s muffled, “Shit.”

Closing his eyes, Stan counted to ten before he turned to see Richie had slipped into the tub haphazardly and now had his lanky legs hanging gangly over the lip, arms bent, and hanging out at the elbow. When he caught Stan’s eye, Richie just grinned, shifting in the tub as he settled there, content with his poorly thought out choices. Stan briefly considered offering his hand but decided it was best to leave Richie where he was and face the consequences of his actions. “You need to watch your language, Mr. Hanlon doesn’t like cursing.”

“Old McDonald’s not here.”

“His name is Mr. Hanlon, and you’ll show them respect.” Stan corrected, brow raised to show he was prepared for Richie’s inevitable challenge to politeness. His response was only a somehow wider grin as Richie tipped his head back and watched Stan with an interest Stan didn’t quite understand. “I’m serious, they’re giving us a roof to live under, Richard.”

“Ugh,  _ Richard _ . Really? No one fu-- no one calls me that. Richie. Call me Richie.” The slender teen didn’t make any move to remove himself from the decorational bathtub, only tipped his head so she could keep tabs on Stan as the other boy wandered the back porch. 

What might look like exploring was Stan trying to find the best spot to watch the apple tree a few yards away. It was a prime location for bird watching activities, with or without the shady teen laying in the bathtub. Even as he wandered, he listened. “I’ll call you that when you deserve it.”

“When I  _ deserve _ it? Kinky.”

Stan could hear the grin in Richie’s voice, and he had to fight the urge to smile back. Richie wasn’t all annoying. He was witty, had a knack for comebacks, Stan quite liked the banter. At home, there was no back and forth; if Stan made the mistake of a snide comment or a sarcastic remark his father’s anger was terrifying and unforgiving. Before he could retort now, though, the back door slid open to reveal a boy Stan had only seen around school. Short but not stubby, slender but not dainty, he looked like he might have another growth spurt waiting for him somewhere down the road, but it wouldn’t help much. The next thing Stan noticed was his eyes, dark brown and quick under a heavy brow, but there was a pleading in them. A gentility Stan had never seen in… well, anyone. They met eyes for a moment, Stan opening his mouth to offer a greeting but Richie sprang up in the tub like something bit him.

“Eddie!” Richie toppled out of the tub, arms windmilling to keep himself upright until Stan could grab one arm to steady him, Eddie taking the other. Together, they helped him out of the tub without falling flat on his face, Richie laughing the whole time. “Boys, boys, please. I’m seeing someone, and she doesn’t like sharing me.”

“You are?” Stan asked the question before he could stop himself, and Eddie snapped a hand out and slapped the back of his fingers against Stan’s chest in a silent warning he didn’t yet understand.

Richie, however, looked ecstatic to be given the perfect set up and he slung an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, grinning wildly at Stanley. “Yeah, Eddie’s mom and I are  _ real _ close, didn’t ya know?”

“Close?”

“Please stop.” Eddie pleaded with Stan, smacking Richie’s arm off of him and turning to smack him again if he even thought about taking Stan’s bait. “Don’t fucking answer that, Richie. Don’t say a fucking word.”

It was a struggle for Richie to talk through his laughter, which is probably what saved him because he couldn’t get through the joke with the way Eddie was cutting him off every time he tried. Richie’s laugh was infectious because soon Eddie was laughing trying to keep him quiet and then Stan was even allowing the hint of a chuckle as he watched the two interact. When they finally managed to settle down, Eddie gave them a quick tour of the farmhouse before he showed them upstairs to their shared room. On the tour, Stan had learned Eddie and Richie had been friends since grade school- which wasn’t hard to believe, Derry wasn’t a very big town. 

Their bedroom was upstairs and at the end of the hall to the right. Against the southeast corner was a bunk bed, Eddie informed them the bottom bed was his and the top was Richie’s. Across from that was a single bed tucked into the northeast corner, a lamp resting on a nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. It was cute, cozy, and Stan set his bag down on the bed to start unpacking, taking the moment to observe the view. A picturesque scene, perfect to watch the sunrise spread warmth across the farmland.

Behind him, Stan could hear Eddie and Richie bickering about the bunk bed situation, and he was surprised by how easily he could tune it out as he unpacked his clothes directly into the dresser closest to his bed. For the first time in a long time- even before the accident- Stan felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.


End file.
